Connor's Benediction
by waldocasey
Summary: Picking up the story line through the episode Benediction, an AU take on how the relationship between Angel and Connor should have developed.
1. Connor's Return

Author's Note: I really never liked what Joss Whedon did with the character of Connor. Firstly, there was the whole cheat with changing his age from sixteen to eighteen. I would imagine they did that just so the creepy pseudo incest thing with Cordelia wouldn't be statutory rape for the viewers. Also, having watched Angel's genuine anguish for his infant son's disappearance, I thought it was OOC for him to practically ignore him when he returned only days later. Don't even get me started on the whole Deep Down kicking him out of the hotel episode.

So, here is my take starting with Benediction. It will be a multiple chapter story. This is only the prologue. I would have liked it to have gone this way for them. This story will be centered around Angel and a sixteen year old Connor bonding as father/son the way it should have happened.

_____________________________________

_It's okay, baby. Just let it go._

The voice was so soothing, so unbelievably familiar. Something far back in the recesses of the boy's mind recognized the soft tones of the woman who was gently holding him in a mother's embrace. He leaned into her shoulder and hesitantly rested his head against her neck.

So soft, so comforting. So _familiar_.

The boy inhaled deeply and was momentarily overpowered by the woman's scent. Unbidden, a flash of memory burst like a short bloom of light in his mind.

He knew that scent. Not from his life in Quor'Toth. Nothing there smelled like this. Everything in the feverishly red, demon plagued wasteland that he had called home reeked of bitterness and foul smells that made his gut ache constantly. You never got used to it. It assaulted you daily, reminding you that something was so inherently wrong about you that you were relagated to the pain and darkness of the hell world forever.

___

Steven had known all his life that he deserved the punishment of Quor'Toth. His righteous and pious Father reminded him constantly that he was the bastard child of two vampires. An unholy offspring of a demon coupling. An aberration. A sin. God had given him to Father as payment for the family that Steven's demon father and mother had stolen from him. It was an attempt to save Steven from an unsavory upbringing with his unnatural father that had brought them to Quor'Toth. Father had hoped to raise him on a beautiful ranch in a place called Utah, but God must have thought otherwise. Because of the inherent evil of Steven's creation and birth, God had damned Father and himself to the hell dimension.

Steven would never be able to make up all that he owed to Father for the sin of his being.

It had been a result of his attempt to punch through the worlds and slay the demon that had spawned him that he and Father had been delivered from their exile. Steven followed the multi-legged water seekers to the crack in the dimensions. With his unnatural strength and single minded determination to get vengeance on he who was responsible for all the pain and sorrow in his world, he had breached the barrier and found himself face to face with the vampire Angelus.

God was giving him a second chance. He was a warrior for good, a hunter of evil. He was _The Destroyer_.

But, when it mattered most, he had failed.

He didn't kill the demon Angelus. He could not. He tried. He fought, with passion and determination, just as Father had always taught him. The demon was evil, he deserved pain and death and Steven had been raised to deliver them.

But, in a moment of weakness, he had allowed himself to be swayed momentarily by the pleading looks and soft words of the thing that had helped to create him. If Steven didn't know better, he would have almost thought it was being sincere.

They fought like warriors in the large dwelling with the hard slippery floor. Steven had been convinced of his victory right up to the moment when he was thrown to the ground by the stronger creature who had pressed Steven's own blade to his neck. Afraid, for the first time in years, he smelled his own death approaching and silently pleaded for his Father's forgiveness for his shameful failure.

Then, surprisingly, the demon had released him, a look of pain on his lying face. Although Steven knew he should avail himself of the opportunity to regain the upper hand from the momentary lapse of weakness on his opponents part, he had fled into the sunlight where the demon could not follow and had run like a coward.

Blindly, he had travelled through the city of large dwellings and harsh noises until he came upon the man hurting the girl. Sunny had been her name and she had been nice and kind to him once he had punished the men who wanted to harm her. She gave him food and shelter and, sitting next to her in the dark, he had felt a primal urge that was unfamiliar and not unpleasant.

But she had died from the medicine that she took from the man who's ear now served as his most recent trophy and he had felt rage like he had rarely felt before. He would have hunted him down if not for the arrival of Angelus. Angelus who had fought with him against the men that would have hurt Sunny. Angelus who had thrown him to the ground, out of the path of the metal bullets that pierced the thin walls of the shelter. Angelus who had pushed him through the smashed glass hole and protected him from the bullets using his own back as a shield.

The devil will show you bright things, Father had told him. Many colors.

His mind had not wanted to believe what his eyes were showing him. Angelus was a demon, not a savior. Steven was of his body, but Angelus was not his Father. He saw Angelus bent over in pain from the wounds he had received protecting Steven and, for a moment, the confused boy felt a surge of gratitude and concern. He fought with these unexpected feelings. His ears hummed from hearing Angelus telling him that he was not alone in this strange new world.

He almost believed him.

The devil will show you many things.

He fled.

Without reason or purpose, ashamed of his inability to carry out the justice he had been charged with since infancy, confused over the kindness of the monster that he had been raised to despise, he wandered for hours until he caught the familiar, yet impossible scent.

_Father_

Regaining his sense of self and purpose, he had lunged after the trail until he had come face to face with the man who he thought had been left behind. By a miracle of their most merciful God, his father was returned to him, to give him strength and return him to the righteous path from which he had almost fallen.

Steven had managed to get them to a shelter, acquiring a room with the money found the pockets of the leather jacket formerly belonging to Sunny's murderer. Once inside, Steven had fallen at his father's feet and begged for forgiveness for his failures. He shamefully confessed to all that had occurred since his arrival and Father had listened to him patiently and quietly.

When the boy had pleaded for penance, Father had obliged as always and Steven had found peace kneeling on the floor, his head bowed in supplication, forehead pressed against the wall, praying for God's forgiveness as Father whipped his back.

Father was always righteous and merciful.

The demon in Steven had healed his wounds by morning, proving to him once again that he must endeavor to try harder to fulfill his duty as The Destroyer. On Father's orders, he returned to Angelus' home, feigning interest in reconciliation. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

But Steven was weak once again. In the building with the loud music and the unchaste gyrations of the people assembled there, Angelus had once again surprised him by fighting and killing several of his own kind that were intent on hurting the redheaded woman.

The euphoria of a successful hunt went to his head and he had found himself revelling with the vampire, even allowing himself to smile at the man who teased him and ruffled his hair as they engaged in a mock battle. For a few brief moments, Steven had allowed himself to forget that he should be waging a real fight with the monster. But the affection in Angelus' eyes, so warm and different from the looks that Father gave him, chipped a little of his bitterness away and he was lost in a moment of frivolity.

He should have known better.

Father had seen it. Father always saw his shameful behavior. He told Steven that he was to be returned to Angelus now. Steven knew it was his punishment for his failure. Father was banishing him to reside with a demon. A demon like Steven was a demon.

His heart broke.

Father had tried to make him clean, holy, righteous. He had bestowed hours of guidance, training, prayer and discipline. But Steven was no longer worthy, it seemed. He had failed. Twice. He was being thrown out of the garden and into the pit of the damned.

Obediently, he left Father behind and returned to the vampire's lair.

__________________________

He lay against the woman Cordelia's shoulder as he wept. In her bright and warm embrace he could feel his anger and bitterness fall away from him. The mental filth and stench he had been layered in from a lifetime in hell.

Her voice was a cool balm against the fiery pain of his suffering as the flood of despair that had always engulfed him receded.

It was her scent. As a child, Steven remembered having flashes of memory of this scent. It comforted him and gave him peace. The long ago forgotten feelings of a maternal love. The warm light surrounding him stripped away Father's harsh words and teachings. It cleansed his soul of the dark evil of his existence of Quor'Toth. He felt peaceful and pure, his rage washed away in the salty streaks of his tears.

He clung to her desperately, like a drowning child seeking rescue, until he was gently manuevered into the strong embrace of Angelus. No, not Angelus. Not the soulless demon that had plagued the Earth and stolen Father's family without remorse or hesitation. This was Angel. The anomoly that had protected him and the woman in the club from the other vampires.

His guilt stripped away by the warm light, he allowed himself to be pressed against the vampire's chest, strong arms wrapped around him in an oddly comforting way. He breathed deeply and was assaulted by another familiar scent from his past.

One that held memories of comfort and safety. And love.

A dam of emotion burst forth and he sobbed like a small child as Angel pressed his face into Steven's hair, whispering words of comfort to his beloved child.

Father had been correct. Steven did belong here.

He was home.


	2. Homecoming

Author's Note: Thank you for reviews so far. I'm pleased that you have seemed to enjoy this. Still just setting the scene a little more in this chapter before I start to really recreate the story line. Some of the season four events will still take place though.

Enjoy!

_______________________

Steven was drained, his usual feverish sense of vengeful direction washed away in the ocean of tears that had fallen as he lay against the vampire's cold chest. His eyelids felt heavy, as if he would fall into dead slumber that would last forever. He wasn't used to that kind of feeling. You couldn't sleep deeply in the Quor'Toth. It meant the difference between life and death.

Angel's arms were still wrapped around him, securely but not restricting. Steven found that if he moved around slightly, the arms would maintain their hold, but they wouldn't restrain him against his will. He found this oddly reassuring and the gesture encouraged him to still his movements. There was almost a guilty pleasure about enjoying the vampire's embrace. Father would never have allowed this kind of physical affection at his age.

__________________________

Steven was reminded of the time when, as a young boy, Father had left him tied to the black, spiny tree behind their dwelling and had left him there. Alone and scared.

_Abandoned_.

At first, Steven hadn't resisted when Father was wrapping the heavy lengths of braided vine around him. They had often played this game. Father cautioned him, at a very early age, that he needed to know how to free himself if he was ever trapped by a demon for later consumption. A good obedient boy, he had practiced until his small wrists and ankles bled from his struggles, eager to please Father.

It wasn't until Father had announced his intention to leave Steven behind, that the boy had begun to panic. It was instructional, Father told him. Steven needed to learn how to track Father, or any other kind of prey, at great distances. A necessary tool to be acquired and honed until nothing could hide from the young warrior. Distressed, Steven had begun to struggle against his bindings, hot tears of despair streaming down his dirty little cheeks as he cried out for Father, begging him not to leave.

When Father had turned around and strode back to him, Steven had felt a brief moment of relief until Father drew back his hand and slapped him hard across the face. Warriors didn't cry, Father had said. Warriors kept their wits about them and overcame their obstacles. Heaving in short breaths, Steven ignored the sting spreading across his cheek and focused on Father's words. He would be a warrior and he would please his father and God.

It took him five lonely, brutal and hungry days to find Father. But finally, he had tracked the man to the banks of the large hot sulfur pond where they had sometimes found black rocks that Father used to make fires outside their dwelling.

Bruised, bleeding, ravenous and frightened, he had stumbled on a broken ankle towards Father, hysterical relief pouring forth from every pore of his little body. Father looked pleased that he had managed to win the game and Steven had desperately lunged to throw his skinny little arms around Father's waist. Before they reached their target, Father had grabbed his wrists and stopped him. He was a warrior now. Warriors didn't hug other warriors. Only little boys were hugged and, now that Steven had proved himself, he was no longer a little boy. Steven choked back a sob and held his ground.

He understood now. No crying, no hugging. He could never do either again.

Steven had been five years old.

__________________________

Then, today, Steven had done both in a matter of minutes for the first time in eleven years. Angel did not seem to mind it either. In the back of his head, Steven thought about the difference between the way Angel treated him and the way Father had.

Angel was a warrior. Steven had seen that much for himself. Regardless of what Father had told him, he had seen, with his own eyes, the way that Angel had fought and punished those who would do evil.

The world was upside down, left was right. The vampire that Steven had been raised to believe to be the demonic scourge Angelus, had fought against vampires, demons and evil humans alike. While Steven, who had been raised to battle evil, had almost slit the throat of a woman who had shown him nothing but kindness. Sickened with himself, he pulled away from Angel's embrace. He didn't look at the vampire's face, but he could sense that Angel was hurt by it.

"I tried to kill your friend."

The statement was made in a dull, flat tone of disgust and self loathing. The boy felt weighted down again. This time by the realization that he seemed to be becoming everything that he had always wanted to fight against.

Maybe it was this world. He didn't like it here. But, he realized that he didn't want to go back from where he came from either. Quor-Toth was no longer a part of him. He felt lost, separated from all that he knew and all that he was.

He was alone.

He felt a comforting hand on his back, although he kept his eyes averted in shame. He knew that Angel should not show him any mercy or compassion for his actions. He heard the vampire sigh behind him and prepared himself for punishment or exile. Or both.

"Yeah, well, you know, she's used to it," Angel's voice was soft, without judgment.

Startled, he turned around and searched deeply into the man's eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul, Father had always said. When you seek the truth, look into the eyes. If you are truly observant, they will never lie to you.

In Angel's eyes he saw compassion, understanding and forgiveness. That was the truth clearly evident in the soft brown orbs that looked nothing like his own. Even more overpowered with shame, he turned his head away in misery.

"I think I should go," he said, preparing to leave the place where he had caused so much destruction and sadness. He was about to stand up to face his deserved life of solitude when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, gently restraining him."

"Look. Why don't you just stay here. I know it doesn't feel like it yet. But this could be home for you."

Steven turned and felt a pang of guilt over the obvious desperation and anguish on the vampire's face. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, to alleviate the pain he had caused his birth father, but nothing comforting would come out.

He sighed deeply, feeling ashamed, so very ashamed of himself and of what he almost had done.

"I don't have a home," he said miserably.

"That's not true," Angel replied, a pained expression on his face. "You just don't remember, that's all."

Unfortunately, the truth was that Steven did remember. A little. Breathing in the familiar scents of his vampire father and of Cordelia had tapped into a part of his consciousness that had been buried since his infancy. Even the overall scent of the hotel had seemed oddly soothing, although the boy had not wanted to admit it at first.

"Your home is here," Angel said simply, as if those simple words would fix all of Steven's problems. No hesitation, no refusal. A matter of fact. "This is where you're supposed to be, son."

Steven smiled joylessly at the term. All of those years in Quor'Toth, preparing to kill this vampire, this _thing, _the demon that was responsible for his creation. Here he was, sitting next to Steven, opening up his home to one that would harm and insult his friends, calling him son, giving him a family. All the things that Father was taking away from him because Steven had been too weak to carry out the task he had been charged with for a lifetime.

The situation smacked of irony.

"You speak as though you are my father," he smirked, mentally comparing the one of his birth to the one that had raised him. "He said the same thing. He said we came back for a reason."

The pronoun wasn't lost on Angel and a dark cloud passed over his face.

"Did he?" the vampire queried, and Steven could hear a slightly dangerous timbre in his question.

He didn't get the chance to respond before the front doors of the hotel burst open and the woman named Fred rushed in followed by the man Gunn. Gunn cleared his throat.

"Angel, could we speak to you for a moment?" Gunn asked with a sense of urgency.

Angel looked up at the two who were clearly uneasy about something. But then he looked down at his forlorn child and shook his head. "Not right now."

"Connor," Angel whispered quietly before closing his eyes and slightly shaking his head. "_Steven_," he stated, a little more forcefully. "Please don't go. I want you to stay here. Stay..with me."

Steven shook his head. "I don't think I should," he said miserably.

Father had taught him to trust his instincts. His instincts were telling him that the vampire in front of him was not the demon that Father had raised him to despise. He could see it now. See it clearly for himself. Father had been wronged by Angelus. The vampire that had been responsible for creating Steven was Angel. Angel was a warrior for good.

And Steven had tried to kill him.

He didn't deserve to be forgiven. He didn't deserve to be loved.

"Please, Steven. This could be your home," Angel pleaded quietly, hurt in his eyes.

Steven didn't want to give in so easily. Long ago he had been taught that there were consequences for his actions. As a warrior he had always been prepared to face them. He would face this too. He would leave and make his own way. One father had thrown him aside, the other father shamed him for his betrayal. He shook his head slowly and stood up.

"I don't deserve to be here," he said quietly as he turned towards the doors.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Angel stand and then felt the strong arms envelope him again. He winced as if in pain as the vampire pulled him to his chest.

"Yes you do, son. I'm your father. Your _real_ father," Angel said with strong conviction, "and I love you."

Steven's breathing hitched but he didn't turn to face his father's eyes. He couldn't. He wouldn't. A part of him wanted to believe that it was true. But the part of him, buried deep inside of him, the part that had allowed Father to pollute his mind against his real father was still bleeding from the hurt he felt over Angel's failure to deliver him out of the hell he lived in.

"Then why didn't you come for me? Why did you leave me there? Why did you leave me with _him_?" Steven spat out, tears of anguish coursing down his cheeks once again.

Behind him he felt Angel choke, his chest shuddering with a repressed sob. Steven could smell the tears that were now running down the vampire's face.

"I tried, son. Please believe me. I tried. I would have done anything to get you back. I did everything I could and even some things that I shouldn't have. But...it wasn't good enough. Nothing worked." Angel paused as he fought to control the anguished sobs that threatened to burst forth. "I'm so sorry, son. I'm so sorry that I wasn't good enough."

Steven turned around and saw the truth and despair on his father's face. He could see that the vampire was mentally flaying himself for his failures. Steven could see that his words had been sincere and his own face softened with the finality of his knowledge.

Angel would have come for him if he had been able.

His father's broad shoulders were slumped in misery. "I know it's no excuse, son. I just didn't know what else to do. I didn't know about the time disparity in Quor'Toth. The demon that opened the rift to allow Holtz to take you there couldn't do it again when I had hunted him down."

Angel looked up at him, his face pleading for forgiveness. "It was only just days ago that you were my baby son, here, in this dimension. You are my whole life, Connor," he begged, slipping on the name unconsciously. "The only thing that matters to me."

The vampire lifted his hand and cupped Steven's face in it. Steven flinched briefly at the contact, but he allowed it, even leaning into it after a few seconds. The little boy inside of him craved the soft touch of a father's unconditional love. It had been so long since he had been touched with such warmth.

"Please," Angel begged again. "Please just give me a chance to show you how much I love you, how much we all love you." He gestured around the room where Cordelia, Fred, Gun and the green demon Lorne were all watching the proceedings wordlessly.

Steven panned his face around to each of them and saw nothing but affection and warmth and heaved a large sigh.

He would see for himself what these people were like. The ones that apparently thought of themselves as his family. Father had told him to trust his instincts, but he didn't follow them blindly. He would stay, like Father had told him to, and watch and wait.

He would decide for himself whether they were warriors for good or evil.

"Okay."


	3. Keeping the Peace

Author's Note: Just wanted to say that there will be none of that nonsense between Connor and Cordelia in my story. That relationship ruined the entire season in my eyes. Not that the events of the season won't be addressed in some form, but just not like it was in canon.

__________________________________________

Justine watched from the shadows behind a tree next to the motel as the teenager, who unbelieveably had to be Angelus' recently infant son, leaped from the balcony and tore off into the night. She had spotted him sparring outside the club with the vampire. It couldn't be possible, but somehow, she knew that it was.

After her near death experience at the club, her heart had caught in her throat as she desperately clung to the thought that if Connor, no, _Steven_, was here, returned from the hell dimension, then perhaps Daniel had made it back as well. As skillfully as she could drive her ramshackle pick-up, she had managed to follow the running boy across town until she saw him sprint up in front of the French Cottage Motel. A dive if she ever saw one, and truly she had seen more than one in her day.

Patiently, she waited and watched to see what the boy would do next. If Daniel was with him, she didn't want to approach the man until the boy was gone. What she had to say to Daniel was for his ears only.

Her patience was rewarded when she saw a short stocky figure amble slowly towards the motel and eventually make its way up to the same room that the boy had entered. When the figure turned, she was immediately horrified by the sight. The creature staring off into the distance was scarred and battered, almost gruesome in its features. She shuddered slightly as the idea hit her that this might, in fact, be Daniel.

It's not that she hadn't subconciously known that if the baby was now a teen aged boy, Daniel must have aged as well. But it wasn't until she saw the petrifying figure with her own eyes that she realized that wherever they had gone, it had not been kind to Daniel.

She felt a brief moment of remorse for the man that she had loved, and then just as easily pushed it aside. She would see him for herself after the boy was gone.

She didn't have to wait too long. Only twenty minutes or so had passed before the motel door was flung open in agitation and the boy stomped out of it. He looked around briefly and then jumped over the second story railing and fell gracefully to the ground below. In a blur of motion, he ran off into the night.

Eager to avail herself of the opportunity that she had been waiting for, she was just about to leave the safety of her hidden perch when she noticed a familiar looking truck parked across the street. Cursing quietly to herself, she saw the truck's occupants and immediate recognized two of the vampires' team members. On any other day, she would have formulated a plan of attack befitting human traitors, but this was not any other day.

Taking a deep breath to calm her raging nerves, she retreated back into the shadows and waited for them to leave. Once they had, she made her way quickly and quietly across the road, through the parking lot and up the stairs. Steeling herself for anything, she lifted her still bruised hand and knocked on the door. After a fashion, it opened and she repressed a choke of revulsion as she took in the disfigured beast standing in front of her.

"Daniel," she breathed, supressing a wave of bile that threatened to roar up her throat.

____________________________________

Gunn tried again to get Angel's attention. He wasn't unsympathetic to the incredibly important scene that was unfolding in front of him, but he knew that time was precious and he needed to let Angel know what they had seen at the motel as soon as possible. He cleared his throat again and when Angel lifted his face up to look in his direction, with no small measure of agitation on the vampire's part, Gunn had motioned towards his office with his eyes, glaring with enough intent that his boss finally got the picture.

Angel looked over at Cordelia with an unspoken request that she picked up on immediately. She glided over to the couch quickly and gently pulled Steven back down to sit with her. He didn't protest, even when she had put an arm around his back.

Steven was still a bit dazed, but he was cognizant enough to know that something was going on and, whatever it was, he wouldn't be allowed to be privy to it. Across the seating area, Steven saw the green demon standing calmly against the front desk eyeing him warily. He didn't know why, but he felt a brief wave of guilt pass over him. He had been raised and trained to kill demons. Why was this one unnerving him so?

Angel watched as his son shot furtive glances over to where Lorne was standing. The boy couldn't quite seem to make eye contact with the demon. He could tell that Connor, ugh, _Steven_ still didn't trust the green being. Even in his current fairly peaceful state, it must be hard to let go of sixteen years of inbred hate in a just a matter of minutes.

Lorne, with his unique gifts, could sense the warring emotions being mentally broadcast loud and clear by the exorcised child. He assumed his gentle mannerisms and walked quietly over to where Steven was sitting buffeted between Cordelia and Angel. He crouched down in front of the boy who had his head firmly downcast.

"Hey kiddo. I bet you're running on empty right about now. I make a fabulous hot chocolate. How about having some?"

Steven lifted his eyes briefly at the kind and soothing words. He liked chocolate. Ever since getting his first taste of it the night he had spent with Sunny, he ate all that he could get his hands on. Just eating it made him feel better somehow.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and Lorne smiled from ear to ear.

"Be right back, sunshine," he said cheerfully as he swaggered in the direction of the kitchen.

Angel looked hesitantly from his son to the increasingly impatient Gunn. Sighing, he bent over and pushed some of the boy's wayward hair out of his eyes. Steven flinched from the touch, but only for the briefest of seconds.

"I have to go talk to Gunn for a minute, but I'll be right over there in the office if you need me. Okay, son?"

Steven nodded, not saying anything and Cordelia tightened her hold around him in a comforting manner. "I'll stay here with you, Steven."

The boy smiled in gratitude and unconciously burrowed against her side a little more. Part demon or not, Cordelia's presence comforted him. Convinced that his wayward son wouldn't be going anywhere soon, Angel headed towards the office and was quickly followed by Gunn and Fred. He loped over to his desk and dropped heavily into his chair as Gunn pulled the glass door closed behind him.

"This really had better be good, Gunn. That's my son out there and he's hurting," he growled, annoyance heavy in his voice.

Gunn was a no nonsense, right to the point kind of man. "Holtz is here in L.A. He came through too."

Angel rolled his eyes and stood up. "I know. My son already told me. I'm planning on paying him a little visit just as soon as I know that Con..Steven is okay."

Gunn was startled by the announcement for a second and then went right into fighter mode. "All right. When do we leave?"

Angel shook his head. "No, not we. Just me. I'll see him alone." When Gunn began to sputter protests, Angel lifted up a hand to stop him. "I appreciate the offer, Gunn, but I need you to do me a favor that's more important. I want you and Fred to take him out and spend some time with him."

Gunn shot him a disbelieving look and turned to stare hesitantly at the hunched over figure next to Cordelia. "And he'll be good with that?"

Angel shrugged. "I think so. I need to keep him occupied while I confront Holtz. I don't want him to get in the middle of it. It's not his fight."

"Where do you want us to take him?" Fred asked, a bit confused as to how this was a good idea.

Angel sighed and looked out the window at his distraught child. "Somewhere where this world isn't as ugly as he thinks it is."

He watched as Lorne returned carry two mugs, passing one to Cordelia and one to Connor. His son clutched the mug to his chest as his sad eyes stared vacantly at the floor. The sight of his boy so bereft hurt the vampire like a kick to the gut and he strengthened his resolve that the man responsible for his son's hellish upbringing would be dealt with.

Gunn shook his head, unconvinced, but willing to do as Angel asked. "How long do you need?"

"Couple hours should do it," Angel responded as he went to open the door and return to his son.

Lorne had taken guard on the side of Steven that Angel had vacated and was pleased to see the boy slowly lift the mug to his mouth and take a small swallow. Steven gripped the mug tightly in his hands, letting the warmth of the pottery soothe his cold palms. Cordelia rubbed his back for a moment, but she was stealing glances at the trio in the office. She leaned over and pressed a small kiss against the side of Steven's forehead before standing up.

"I'll be right back sweetie," she said gently before walking hurriedly over to the office door. She opened it, pushing the exiting Angel back inside, and closed it behind her.

Steven watched her go and lifted his hand up to gently rub the spot where she kissed him. He wasn't used to a woman's touch. Soft and gentle, warm and soothing. As a little boy, he had missed not having a mother. Father had told him stories of what a wonderful mother his wife had been to their murdered children. The only time he mentioned Steven's mother, his voice dripped with venom, describing the murdering fiend that had been Darla. He gave her a closer look as she stood inside the clear room and frowned. He couldn't hear what they were saying, no matter how hard he tried, but she looked upset.

In the office, Cordelia was shooting a sharp glare at Angel.

"Okay, what's going on?" she demanded. She knew the looks on Angel and Gunn's faces. They never boded well for anything that the two men were after.

"I'm going after Holtz," Angel stated simply. "Fred and Gunn are going to take my son out for a while. I don't want him involved in this."

"What if he asks where you are?" Gunn asked, the thought suddenly occuring to him.

"Don't tell him."

Gunn nodded and he and Fred prepared to leave the room as Angel grabbed his jacket off of the coat rack. Cordelia stopped him by putting her hand on his arm. She didn't like where this was headed.

"Wait, Angel. Before you go, we have to do that thing."

Angel sighed in exasperation. "What thing?"

"That thing we do," Cordelia said hurriedly, hoping to change his mind. "You know, where I say 'Are you sure you know what you are doing? Angel, please think about this.' And then you ignore me and rush headlong into trouble."

Angel smiled a little. "Right. That thing."

Cordelia stared at him meaningfully while Angel waited patiently for her to continue to speak. A moment passed with nothing said and he spread his hands questioningly.

"Okay. We done?" he asked, eager to be on his way.

Cordelia let out a large breath of air she had been holding in.

"Angel," she said quietly. "Please think about this. In fact, don't go there at all."

"I have to," he said simply.

"I know," she responded surprisingly. "But don't."

Angel huffed in exasperation. "I'm not gonna kill him, even though he deserves it." He turned towards the door but was stopped by her shocking answer.

"I don't care if you kill him," she replied, matter of factly. "He stole Connor's childhood, so..kill him. But don't lie to your son."

If Angel needed to breath, he would have choked. He settled for taking a second look at Cordelia. The tone in her voice was deadly serious.

"He's been here like, a day. Way to build the trust," she scolded him.

Angel shook his head in denial. "I'm not lying to him," he protested weakly.

"No," Cordelia replied. "You're just sending him off to be distracted while you go confront the man he thinks of as his father."

"_I'm_ his father," Angel responded coldly, glaring at his best friend. He turned away and reached for the door handle.

"Then act like it," Cordelia spat back. "Put his needs and feelings first. He just agreed to stay here and now the very first thing you decide to do is go out behind his back. If you do this, and he finds out some other way, and hello, teenager, believe me he will find out, you will lose him again. Think about that."

Angel winced from the truthfulness of her words. He hesitated at the door, but kept his back to her. Taking the vampire's lack of motion as an invitation, Cordelia approached him slowly and put a comforting hand on his back.

"He needs you, Angel. Don't go messing everything up just as he is beginning to open up to you a little. If you need to see Holtz tonight, then go. But don't deceive your son. Tell him what you are planning on doing and see what he has to say about it. If he is okay with it, then fine. But if he's not, then be a good father and take care of your kid first."

Angel lifted his right hand and rubbed his face. It was one of those moments when he felt his true age. Cordelia was right. His son had to come first. Tonight, tomorrow, always.

"Okay Cordy," he sighed wearily as he opened the door and finally exited the office.

Slowly, Angel walked back over to the couch where his precious child sat hunched over, the mug in his hands now empty, but his grip still as tight as it had been since receiving it.

"Hey pal," he said softly as he approached the boy. "Feeling any better?"

Steven nodded his head slightly even as he kept his eyes turned downwards. His head thrummed with a dull ache, but it was not even close to the near constant pressure he had always felt inside of it. Until tonight he had never realized just how much on edge he kept himself. Between Father's endless lessons and the constant fight for survival, the boy had never been allowed to just relax. It would take some getting used to, he thought idly.

Lorne stood up and gently prised the cocoa mug out of the boy's hands. "Are you finished with this, kiddo? Would you like some more?"

Steven looked up at the demon surprisingly gratefully and shook his head. "No, thank you," he whispered. "I appreciated it very much," he assured Lorne, pulling out his best manners to make up for his earlier hostility. Lorne nodded at him gently, a sweet expression in his eyes. "You're very welcome, young man. Anytime."

Angel beamed at his son and took Lorne's vacated seat. Reaching over tentatively, he slowly pulled Steven into a half embrace. Steven controlled his impulse to pull away and forced himself to sit still. The contact was still unfamiliar and hard to accept, but he found that he didn't dislike it entirely. In fact, it was kind of nice.

Angel enjoyed the warmth of his son pressed into his shoulder for a moment. He could stay like that all night, he thought, but there was still a difficult matter to be addressed. He squared his shoulders and cleared his throat nervously, barely trusting himself to speak. He could only pray that Cordelia was right with her advice.

"Son, I have to go out for a while. We'll get you settled in once I get back, but first," he paused, gauging the semi-interested response from the boy," I have to go see Holtz. He has to answer for kidnapping you."

The pulsing pain began to course through Steven's head again as he leaped to his feet and assumed a fighting stance. Angel had half expected this kind of response and he sadly shook his head.

It seemed as if all the progress they had made today was about to be lost.


	4. Truth and Lies

Author's Note:

Thanks to all who are reviewing. I know we are starting out slowly, but it will build momentum in later chapters. But, this is first and foremost a story about Angel and Connor bonding. The action will take a backseat. Just in case you are wondering.

______________________

The familiar rage had reared its ugly head all too quickly, Steven lamented. In one swift motion his muscles had tensed, his heart pounding with a powerful surge of adrenaline that his body required to expel his semi-preternatural strength and speed. His head throbbed painfully in anger over being tricked.

He had thought, for the briefest of moments, that maybe, just maybe, Father's assessment of Angel had been wrong. That maybe Steven's birth father, although a vampire, could be a warrior for good. But here he was already seeking to harm Father and, _that_, Steven would never allow.

Steven had no way of knowing that confrontations could be held verbally. In the Quor'Toth, when you confronted something, you sought to kill. Case closed. And, certainly, Steven knew of the centuries old animosity between Father and Angel where each had attempted numerous times to kill the other.

Angel stood up and assumed a slightly defensive position. He didn't want to fight his son again, but he couldn't allow the partly feral child to kill him either. He had seen the blood drain from the boy's face after he had announced his intentions and almost kicked himself for it. But, Cordy was right. He would not start out his relationship with his newly returned son with a lie.

Steven was practically snarling as he clenched his fists and began to make a threatening half circle in front of the vampire, attempting to position himself so that Angel could not get past him to go after Father. The dead demon would have to kill him first and Steven was betting that Angel wouldn't have the stomach to do it. He had already had more than one opportunity to slay Steven and yet he had failed.

In his seething rage, the boy was confusing Angel's love for his son with weakness.

Steven warily eyed the vampire's calm face, his cold hands held up in a surrendering manner, but his larger stance still one of defense.

"I won't let you hurt my father," the boy growled, channelling all of his energy to focus on the upcoming fight. He saw a change in the placid mask of Angel's face at his words. A spark of agitation ignited in the dark brown eyes.

"Holtz is _not_ your father, Connor," Angel spat out, a little more viciously than he had intended. It was getting hard to push back the hurt that stabbed him every time he heard his beloved son refer to that vengeful creature as his father.

Enraged, Steven lunged to throw a punch at the vampire with his powerful right hand. A warrior used to fighting with a detached and cold mindset, his wild emotional state interferred with the arc of the thrust and Angel caught it easily in his own hand.

Physically reminding the boy of his superior strength, Angel firmly, but not painfully, used the motion to pull his son's arm down and twist him around, pressing the fist into the boy's own back with his right arm while encircling the struggling child with his left arm.

Shaking violently with rage, Steven jerked forcefully but futilely against the arm that was flung across his chest and holding him tightly so that his back was crushed against the cold chest of the vampire.

"I'm _not_ Connor!" he screamed as he fought to free himself.

Angel bit back the desire to shake the misguided stubborn boy until he understood the falsity of those words. Instead, he tightened his grip around the trembling chest and leaned his head down next to the boy's right ear.

"Yes, you are, son. I know that because I'm the one that named you when you where born," he choked out quietly. "You are _my_ son, not his."

Steven put all of his strength into escaping the strong arms that held him against his will, but Angel was much stronger than he was and it only served to frustrate him even more. He didn't want to hear the words coming out of the vampire's mouth.

"I heard your first cry," Angel continued, determined to get through to his literally captive audience. "I saw your first smile, heard your first laugh. I fed you, changed you, sang to you and loved you more than I ever loved anything else in over two hundred years of existence."

Steven's fight faltered for a second at the words, but he quickly pushed them aside and resumed his struggle. "You don't know anything about me, _vampire_," he spat out with a voice full of venom.

Angel sighed and took a deep unnecessary breath.

"It's true that I don't know anything about what you were like growing up. I can't deny that," he moaned sadly. "I don't know what your first word was, or how old you were when you took your first step. I don't know if he treated you well, or if he hurt you. I don't know if you ever wondered about me, or about your mother. I know that Holtz probably never told you how much we loved you and wanted you. How your mother gave her life for yours."

At those last words, Steven stopped struggling so hard but kept his tense stance. He dropped his head a bit forward and began to heave heavy breaths. Angel manuevered his right arm so that he was still holding his son's small wrist, but swinging both his arm and Connor's around the front of shuddering boy and holding him firmly in a tight embrace now. Unconsciously, Steven pressed his back further into Angel's chest and fought to keep his knees from giving out on him.

"You're lying," he whispered miserably. "You're the prince of lies, and you're trying to trick me. God gave me to Father, so that he could save me from you."

Angel pressed the bottom of his chin into his son's wild fine hair and exhaled loudly.

"God didn't _give _you to Holtz, son. Holtz _took _you. Two hundred years ago he made a deal with a demon named Sahjan that allowed him to be frozen in time until you were born. Sahjan promised to give him a chance to kill me if he killed you too. Only he didn't kill you. He took you from me because he wanted revenge for what I did to his family when I was Angelus. He knew how much I loved you. He knew that it would kill me far more painfully and slowly by taking you from me than if he just staked me."

Steven began to shake his head violently back and forth. These words were lies, all lies and he wouldn't listen anymore.

"You're wrong. My father would never make a deal with a demon. We kill demons. We don't make deals with them."

Cordelia walked over to him slowly, careful not to make any sudden threatening movements. Gently, she reached out and cupped the side of the boy's face in her hand, softly wiping away the tear that was escaping from his eye with her thumb.

"He did, Steven. How else do you think he managed to live so long? He was crazed with grief. He would have done anything to make Angelus pay for what was done to his family. Only Angelus wasn't around anymore when he was woken up. Only Angel was here. Angel, who had a soul now and was a champion for good. But that didn't stop him from taking his revenge out on Angel by taking his son."

The words cut into Steven like a knife. He didn't want to believe them, but a little part of him knew that they made sense. Father had never explained how he had lived to be so old and Steven, always respectful and obedient, had never questioned it. He was having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that the vampire that fathered him could have two separate identities. It was hard to believe and even harder to accept. However, he had been given enough of a religious education to understand the importance of the purity of a soul in God's eyes and the words were not entirely lost on him.

Slowly, he sank to the floor even as Angel and Cordelia lowered themselves with him. In a large heap he sat sandwiched in between them as he struggled with the warring emotions swirling around inside his head.

"He said that God gave me to him, to make up for the family that you took from him," he muttered as he stared at the floor.

Steven didn't see the harsh look that came over Angel's face, even as the vampire removed one of his hands to rub his son gently on the back. In that moment, it was all Angel could do to restrain himself from bolting over to the seedy little motel where that filth Holtz was holing up and drinking him dry.

"When I was Angelus and I took Holtz's family from him, I didn't have a soul. I had nothing inside of me to distinguish between right and wrong anymore. If Holtz is such a good man, what was his excuse when he took you away from a father that loved you, only to raise you in hell?"

Steven shuddered, the tears now falling freely from his eyes and spattering onto the hard floor making a small clear pool.

"You _killed _his family," he said emotionlessly, grasping for any straw that he could to maintain the illusion of his righteous upbringing.

Angel nodded, even though the boy couldn't see him do it.

"Yes, and he threatened to kill you," he answered in a choked voice, remembering the clear look of intent on Holtz's face as he gripped a meaty hand around the tiny neck of Angel's infant son right before he jumped them into the rift.

Angel raised his hand from his son's back and lovingly rubbed the back of the small pale neck in front of him, suppressing a shudder at the memory of how close he had come to watching his baby murdered in front of his eyes.

"That's how he got away from me that night," Angel answered his son's unspoken question. "He threatened to break your neck if I came any closer to him. I don't expect you to understand, son. But I couldn't risk giving him the chance to hurt you by taking you back by force. I thought I would be able to track him down later and get you back without risking your life but....," Angel's voice broke as tears started to fall from his own eyes, "I couldn't. I couldn't find a way in, no matter what I did."

Angel leaned forward enough to press his face into the back of his son's head, breathing in deeply of the boy's comforting scent. The scent that he thought had been gone for good that terrible night. Steven could smell the vampire's tears and it further confused him. Angel's words and actions seemed genuine enough, but to believe them would make a liar out of Father and he couldn't stomach that thought.

Cordelia gently stroked the boy's hair, trying desperately to soothe the confused and hurting child that she loved as her own. She lifted his chin up and saw pain and anger in his pale blue eyes. Leaning forward, she kissed away his tears even as she pulled him against her shoulder. Emotionally spent, he willingly nestled his face in the crook of her neck and allowed Angel to embrace them both as they all remained huddled on the floor.

____________________________________________________

In the shabby room of the cheap motel, Daniel put the finishing flourishes on his two page masterpiece.

He knew, from the moment he saw Steven bonding with Angelus that, no matter what he had tried to raise the boy to believe, the child he had grown to love as his own son would eventually choose his blood father over Daniel himself. It was only natural, he reasoned with himself. Steven was the bastard child of two demons.

God knew Daniel had seen the unholy strength and speed for himself. Even though Daniel had tried for years to pray and beat the demon out of his adopted son, Steven was who he was. Daniel finally realized that he could never change the boy's inherited nature.

The former vampire hunter was old now, his true age finally catching up to him. Weak from the daily struggle in the bowels of hell, raising the spawn of devils as righteously as he could wore him down and he was now just a shell of a man. His strength was spent and he had nothing left to give to the fight that appeared to be still always in front of him.

He knew now, as surely as he knew anything, that he only had one course left open to him. He would give his last drop of blood in an effort to steer Angelus' son away from him for good. Maybe, just maybe, the cause was not yet lost completely.

Steven was nothing, if not obedient. Right now the boy was with Angelus, spilling all about his return. Leaning back in his chair, he sighed contentedly. It was only a matter of time before Angelus came to him.

Then, Daniel would have his final revenge.


	5. Fathers and Sons

Smashed in a hug between his vampire father and the part demoness, Steven felt a wave of shame pass over him for allowing himself to show such weakness for the second time that day. How was it that the ones he had been raised to despise were the first ones to ever give him such warmth and comfort? Was it a trick of the devil? Were these the bright colors that Father had repeatedly warned him about?

Grimacing in emotional pain, Steven was stabbed with sharp guilt over what he felt was overt betrayal on his part against everything Father had ever taught him. He loved Father with the pure love of an admiring son, grateful for the patience and care that had been bestowed upon him his entire life in the harsh environs of the red hell that had been home.

While it was true that Steven was more likely to receive a rebuke than a compliment, more likely to be given a lecture over a bedtime story, and most assuredly more likely to feel the bite of Father's strap than the comfort of his arms, he was all that the boy had and Steven adored him blindly.

He would not be easily swayed over to the vampire's side of the story and he was certainly not going to allow this annoying glut of unexpected affection that he was feeling for the two non-humans fiercely embracing him to forget everything that he owed Father.

What kind of son would that make him?

His face was nestled in the crook of Cordelia's soft neck and a large part of him was content to stay there, enjoying the soothing whispered words of love and comfort coming from his demon father. Angel was holding both of them tightly in his arms and, even though his vampire body was cold to the touch, Steven felt warmer than he ever had.

This wasn't right. It was only the demon inside of him that was happy to be held in such a fashion. Besides which, at sixteen, Steven was far too old for coddling no matter how much his inner child was rejoicing in it. He figeted in the embrace until Angel loosened his hold. Squaring his thin shoulders, Steven sat upright and cast his eyes towards the far wall, unable to look either his father or Cordelia in the eye.

"I won't let you hurt Father," he whispered sadly, but with determination clear in the quiet voice.

Angel sighed deeply, reaching out to place his hand on Steven's shoulder. "I'm not going to, son."

Steven turned around abruptly, trying to assess the honesty in the vampire's statement. He was so surprised to see his father's eyes stare back at him with genuine truth that he didn't even flinch when Angel lifted his hand to push stray hair out of his son's eyes. The boy needed a real haircut, he decided fondly.

"Because he's important to you, I won't lay a hand on him, I promise. No matter how much I think he deserves it. I have you back now, and that's all that matters."

Steven wanted to believe him. Wanted it so much that it almost hurt. The sad little boy inside of him that had cried for his real father to come and rescue him from hell was rearing his small head and screaming to be heard. The child that had fought internally against Father's teachings that his birth father had been nothing but a monster wanted to feel safe and secure with Angel now that Father seemed determined to just cast him away as if he were a piece of rotten meat.

The grown boy on the outside knew that he had to hold firm to everything that he had been taught. Baptism by literal fire in the bowels of Quor'Toth taught him to trust nothing other than Father's words and rules. He could not so easily toss aside his inbred suspicion of the demonic.

"I don't trust you," he stated simply, pretending that he didn't see the hurt that flashed quickly in Angel's brown eyes.

"I don't expect that you do," his father replied sadly. "You've been given no reason to."

Angel sat in quiet repose for a moment, desperate to confront the man that had plagued him for centuries before stealing his most precious treasure, but wholly unwilling to remove himself from his son's presence.

"Come with me then," he decided. "You can make sure that I keep my word."

Steven thought for a second and then nodded his consent. Lithely, he shot to his feet, eager to return to Father, just in case the man had changed his mind. Angel was taken aback by the suddeness of his son's movement but recovered quickly enough to stand himself as he gently lifted Cordelia from the floor.

"I want you to stay out of sight though, son. There are things I need to say and hear and I'm sure I have a better shot at getting truthful answers if he doesn't know that you are there listening"

Steven scowled. He didn't like this stipulation at first. He was fast, but the vampire was faster. He thought about it briefly and then decided that he could fight Angel off before he could do anything truly lethal to Father. Then he wouldn't have any hesitation regarding killing the demon. Not wanting to admit anything, he also decided that he wanted to hear what Father would say. Would his words truly be any different if he didn't have to look Steven in the eye?

"Okay."

Cordelia leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"Don't be gone too long, honey. We all want to start getting to know you again."

She gently held his face in her hands and he allowed it, enjoying the way it felt to be held so sweetly. He gave her a shy smile and nodded before Angel called him over told him it was time to leave.

***************************

Very quickly, the arrived at the motel. Steven wouldn't admit it, but had enjoyed travelling in Angel's car. With the top folded away, he could feel the pleasant breeze blowing against his face. It was a feeling that had never been possible in Quor'Toth. Steven himself moved faster than anything else in the red wasteland and there were no mechanical conveyances to speak of. Besides which, the only wind they ever experienced were the middle season dust storms that blew hot and harsh. He and Father had to take shelter in the caves when the storms came or else risk having their entire skins peeled off.

Steven had supplied the correct room number upon request and he was, as agreed upon, sitting agilely on the metal railing outside the door. Close enough to act if necessary, but hidden enough that Father, with his greatly decreased senses from age, would be unable to discern that he was there at all.

He saw and heard Angel take a deep unnecessary breath as if the vampire was attempting to regulate his non-existent heart rate. Angel was, in fact, calming his impulse to rip Holtz's throat out but, mindful of his promise and his son's presence, he reined it in. With blurred speed and unparalleled grace, he opened the door silently, standing in the doorway and watching as a significantly older and damaged Holtz sealed an envelope.

"I can't recall, would you require an invitation to a place like this?"

Angel shook his head imperceptibly. Apparently Holtz was not as infirm as his son had led him to believe if he could still sense his presence. He appeared to want to make casual conversation and Angel would play along for now.

"Public accommodation. No."

Holtz stood up from the desk chair and chuckled quietly, seemingly finding amusement in his lapse in memory.

"No. You'd think I would remember something like that. It would have seemed important once. Details begin to escape me."

As if to prove the point, Angel stepped over the threshold and took three long strides into the room until he was standing directly next to Holtz. He could hear and sense his son jump quietly from the railing and position himself right outside the door, but the movements were so quick and quiet that he knew without a doubt that Holtz did not.

"You stole my son." Direct, simple. Maintaing enough of distance to keep his son comfortable and outside.

"I kept your son alive. You murdered mine."

The blatant statement hit him like a kick to the gut. As foul a taste as it was in his mouth, it was true and Angel found he had no defense for it.

"I was different then." A feeble attempt to soothe his bruised soul. Outside he could hear his son snort quietly. The boy knew it was feeble as well.

"Yes. So was I. You feel remorse. You feel remorse, yet you can't express it." Holtz's voice was quiet, thoughtful and annoyingly perceptive. Angel nodded silently, shouldering the burden of his past sins.

"You want me to say I'm sorry? How can I? It wouldn't mean a thing." Nothing he could do or say would change the past.

"It would mean a little. Not much, but it would be something."

Steven leaned a little closer to the door. He knew he needed to keep himself hidden, but the inner child demanded to hear confirmation of his true father's newly found penitent behavior. If Angel was willing to apologize, it would go a long way in convincing the boy that the vampire did indeed repent his devilish past.

Angel exhaled deeply. Holtz had wronged him utterly and had taken his revenge on his baby son, but if the old vampire hunter was practically insane, it was Angelus' doing and Angel needed to accept responsibility for that.

"Then, I'm sorry. For whatever little it might mean. It's all I've got."

Outside, Steven breathed in quickly. Angel's words and tone were truthful. The inner child shrieked with triumph over having been right, even as the hardened exterior kept his calm and pensive state. He could hear Father release a breath so deep he could have been holding it for two centuries.

"Not all. You had a son. So, there it is. I thought that by depriving you of that son, it would allow me some measure of justice. I was wrong."

These words shocked Steven back into reality. Had Father just admitted that he had stolen him from Angel out of revenge? His mind reeled from the implications and he felt dizzy. All of those years that he had drummed it into Steven's head that God had given him to Father. He took a silent step backwards and clutched his stomach as if he might retch at any minute.

Inside the room, Angel's anger was starting to rear its head.

"Taking Connor from me was never justice. It was vengeance."

"Or maybe vengeance is what I do now. Give back what I took." Holtz's words were cryptic and both vampire and his son perked their ears up after hearing them.

"What?" Angel muttered incredulously.

"I'm an old man now. I have nothing to offer the boy. You can give him what I can't. His purpose. But every time you look upon his face, every time he calls you Father, you'll be reminded of that which you took and can never give back. And if that is vengeance, I find that I have no taste for it."

Angel found himself confused and elated all at the same time. He had been preparing to threaten Holtz, if necessary, into leaving them alone now that his son had decided to stay with him for a while. To hear that the man was actually in support of it was both promising and suspicious at the same time.

Holtz walked over to the desk and retrieved the envelope that he had sealed. Resignedly, he handed it to Angel.

"All I ask is that you give him this. It's not sealed. I expect you'll examine it. You should."

Angel took the envelope gingerly, his face a placid mask of calm as he attempt to ferret out the disfigured man's true intentions. Something was not right here. It smelled all wrong.

"Why are you doing this?"

Holtz shrugged and sat down on one of the twin beds wearily.

"I thought I made that plain. I love my son and it's the only way I know to ensure he'll go on loving me."

Outside, Steven was desperately trying to stave off the waves of nausea he was feeling. It was incomprehensible that Father would just abandon him here in this strange world with the demon father that he had trained him all his life to kill. He was about to rush into the room and confront the man when he heard Father's next words.

"He won't accept this at first. He'll try to find me. He never will."

Gutted, the emotionally shattered boy stopped in his tracks. He drew in a choking breath and then flung himself over the railing and sped off across the parking lot. Angel heard him go and, while he had much more to say to Holtz, he curbed his tongue and was gone in flash after his son.

He didn't need his preternaturally enhanced senses to find his son. The boy was hunched over in the grass across from the motel, hidden in the moonlight by the dark shade of a tree. As Angel approached him, the small body began to heave violently and his son vomited repeatedly.

Angel held back until Steven was done being sick. He was unsure as to how welcome his comfort might be at such a moment.

"You heard," he stated simply.

Steven looked up at him, his eyes awash in pain, pools of unshed tears blurring his vision. He nodded and dropped his eyes back to the ground, not protesting when his father hunkered down next to him and put a comforting hand on his shaking shoulder.

"I'm sorry, son. I know that must have been hard for you."

Steven sneered, wanting desperately to take his hurt and anger out on Angel, but he didn't have the strength. Angel held out the envelope to him and he looked at it sadly before taking it in his hands.

"He wanted you to have this."

The boy nodded dejectedly. He had a feeling that he already knew what the contents were, but he pulled the two ivory sheaths out of the envelope anyway to confirm his suspicions. Brushing the tears out of his eyes, he tilted the paper closer to the dull beam of the nearby street light and began to read.

_Dearest Steven,_

_This is a most difficult letter for me to write. You mean more to me than anything in this world or any other. But your best interests must come first which is why, by the time you read this, I will be gone. I hope one day you will be able to forgive an old man's weakness which compels him to say these things in a letter. But to attempt a good-bye in your presence would be impossible for me. I fear I would never let you go._

_And I must let you go. I know if I didn't, you would only end up hating me and, that, I could not bear. Your destiny lies with Angel. I know that now. You will have a better life with him. I'm comforted by that certainty and in the knowledge that with him you'll discover your true purpose and come to know who it is you are meant to be._

_My only prayer is that I have prepared you well enough for whatever lies ahead. I trust I have. Be brave._

_Lovingly,_

_Your Father_

He read through the letter twice, expecting to see different words the second time. They were too poisonous to be true. The blindingly painful surge of abandonment couldn't possibly be real. Father had been the one and only constant in his life and, without this anchor, Steven felt lost.

While the boy wallowed in his grief and his father perched nearby desirous to be of whatever comfort he could, neither noticed Holtz and the recently arrived Justine leave the room and make their way into the back lot.

After a few dark minutes of pitying himself, Steven threw the papers to the ground in disgust. He wasn't going to take this sitting down. He jumped to his feet and, before Angel knew it, he was racing back across the street to the motel to confront Father. Angel followed at a decidedly slower pace. If this is what his son wanted to do, he would be there to help in whatever manner he could be.

Steven sprinted up to the walkway and threw the room door open, calling for his father as he entered. "Dad!"

Angel winced hearing the words. The very sound stabbed his dead heart viciously but he buried his own pain. His son needed him.

Steven searched the room and found no evidence of Father's presence. Rushing back outside, he caught the man's scent and took off after it. He wasn't even down the stairs before he heard Father's voice as well as one belonging to a female.

"Don't make me do it. I can't," the female was whimpering.

"We already know you can. You promised. You said you'd do anything for me. Come on Justine. I'm not asking you to follow me into Hell. Just send me there. Do it!"

Father's words were ominous sounding and the fear he felt choked with all of sudden resulted in a burst of speed as he ran back behind the motel. He rounded the corner just in time to see the redheaded woman stab Father in the neck. He could hear Father gurgle in pain and was momentarily paralyzed.

"Again."

She hesitated and then stabbed him a second time.

"Dad!" he screamed as he raced forward.

Using his brute strength, he pushed the woman aside and she went flying across the empty lot as he dropped to his knees and cradled Father's head in his lap. Father's neck was bleeding profusely from two wounds and Steven pulled off one of his shirts and pressed it against the punctures. He was vaguely aware that Angel had grabbed the woman and was hauling her back over to where they sat on the ground.

Steven had never felt more helpless in his life. He could see the light leaving Father's eyes and knew that he was powerless to stop it. He looked up pleadingly at Angel as if the vampire could do something, but he knew that he couldn't. Angel had a tight grasp on the woman and was shaking her in a rage. Sickened, Steven recognized her as the woman they had rescued from the vampires at the club the night before.

"Why?" he whispered miserably. Why would she have done this to Father? Why after they had saved her?

Angel shook her harder. "What did you do, Justine?" he spat out, his eyes blazing with murder.

Steven's eyes went wild from the name recognition. Justine? Was this the woman that Father had said was to have been his mother at one time? Why would she do this to Father if she had loved him like he always said she did?

Angel shook her so hard that Steven thought for a moment that her head might fall off. "What did you do?" Angel repeated, his anger coming to a full head of steam.

She gasped for a breath and choked out a reply. "He asked me to. He wanted it to look like a vampire attack," she confessed, grieving over her part in Daniel's death and clearly in fear of being torn apart piece by piece.

Steven violently shook his head in disbelief. He didn't want to hear this. Angel knew right away what happened. He knew his bad feeling about the whole situation had not been wrong. Holtz had set him up.

"Holtz wanted Connor to think that I had killed him."

Justine didn't answer, but her silence spoke volumes. Steven dropped his gaze to Father's dying face and dared the man to deny it. He could see by the pain in the almost vacant eyes that it was the truth and a little part of him died inside. Father raised his right hand a couple of inches, trying desperately to grasp his own but was unable to reach him. As death took him, he struggled to speak one last time.

"Steven?" he gasped weakly, as he lost consciousness for the last time.

Shaking his head sadly, Steven didn't brush away the flood of tears that were falling as he closed Father's lifeless eyes for him.

"My name is Connor," he whispered sadly.

Angel's heart was breaking for his son. Connor needed comfort, but to do so, he would have to release his hold on Justine. Putting his grieving son first, he viciously tossed the murderous redhead aside and reached for his son. Justine would be made to pay later, he promised himself.

Connor turned to stare at him with despondent red rimmed eyes before snaking his thin arms around Angel's neck. Pulling his small framed son against his chest, he held the boy tightly as sobs racked his entire body. He buried his face into Connor's hair trying to comfort him and neither of them saw Justine lunge forward with her knife towards Connor's back until they heard the shot ring out.

Startled, Angel blinked rapidly, taking in the sight of Justine's dead body falling inches away from his child's side. Behind her, Wesley stood with his pistol still aimed, a small curl of smoke issuing out of the barrel.

Angel was stunned into silence for a second. Connor didn't even seem to notice, keeping his face tucked into Angel's neck as he grieved. He stared into Wesley's eyes for a moment before his former friend lowered the gun.

"I'll take care of this Angel. You take care of your son."

Recovering himself in the face of events, Angel nodded simply and stood up, lifting Connor's almost limp body into his arms. With a final glance at the former Watcher, Angel gripped his son tighter and headed towards his car.

"It's okay, Connor. Daddy's going to take you home."


	6. While Connor Sleeps

Author's Note/ A big thanks to all of you that have been reading and reviewing. I know that the Connor/Angel bonding fics aren't the most popular, but hope you are enjoying this one anyway. Like I had mentioned, we are going to be moving along slowly. Some action, yes, but mostly just interaction. I won't be doing a few chapter slap and dash repair for their relationship, though.

___________

In the stillness of the early morning, Angel perched lightly on the padded arm chair positioned next to his bed. With indescribable joy, he watched the slow rhythmic breathing of his lost child as he slumbered under the roof of the Hyperion for the first time in what seemed like ages. In reality, it had only been a few weeks since the last time he looked on in amazement at his miracle asleep in this very room.

But everything had been different then.

A few weeks ago, his son had been an infant, innocent and pure, concerned only with the regularity of the bottles that his father warmed on the small stove in the suite, the comfort of clean and sweet smelling pajamas, the soothing melody of the mobile over his crib, the safety of his father's arms.

In a flash, it had all been ripped away from both father and son.

The teenager that the pensive vampire kept watch over now was a very different child. Almost more of a man than a child but, Angel resolved firmly, still a child. Still _his_ child.

Still his Connor.

Angel's strung out mind-state had never known such a soothing balm as it did the moment when the boy who had manically declared himself to be Steven, the boy that Angel knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was his own, had reclaimed his given name. If he had not seen the anguish that his child was drowning in at the moment, the hurt and betrayal that was encompassing him, the grief that was overwhelming him, Angel would have wept with joy.

As it was, all he could do was offer the cold comfort of his embrace as his child broke, mourning the loss of the deranged hunter that he thought of as his father.

Regardless of the fact that his small framed son had been molded and warped into a weapon of destruction, his real father could still see a hint of the innocence inside of him. Even through the mask of pain and rage, the almost crazed obsession with destroying Angel, the single minded devotion of a finely honed automaton bent on delivering the centuries old revenge of a mad man, the boy's father found glimmers of hesitation, confusion and insecurity in those large pools of ice blue that were his baby's eyes.

In that back alley, beyond the destruction that they had wrought together in the blinding technicolor haze of the gaudy club, he had found his son again as they shadow boxed and his ears were treated to the most beautiful sound they had ever heard. The sweet notes of his son's laughter.

There was still time.

Connor was still young enough to try and undo the damage that had been done to him in the name of vengeance. The black encompassing poison of Holtz's influence had been staved off with his last act of treachery, hopefully ending the manipulation and twisting of his son's mind. Angel would have to be patient. Years of brain washing would not be reversed overnight but, time, he had. Time he had always had in abundance since his change.

With luck, love and determination, he might still be able to bring his son back to him. It wouldn't be easy. Not everything that Holtz had surely drummed into his son's skull was false. Angel was truly guilty of scores of horrors during his unnatural life, but he would give of himself tirelessly until he could convince his child of the positive content of the character of the man that he was now as opposed to the demon he had been.

Connor was worth it.

In the peaceful escape of sleep, the boy's face smoothed out and Angel could clearly see the sweet distinctive features that absolutely identified the teenager as the precious baby that had been so mercilessly taken from him. The small button nose was undoubtedly Darla's. He had seen it enough over the centuries to know it in every detail. The ice blue eyes that bore into him, flickering between hatred, fear and love, depending on the moment, were hers as well.

But that was where the similarities ended. Not that Angel thought vainly that his son was more like himself in appearance. Having only caught a few glimpses of his true self in centuries during their surreal journey to Pylea, Angel knew, without a doubt, that his child's other facial features screamed Kathy, and the realization haunted him.

It was only fair, he supposed, that the overwhelming happiness that flooded him every time he set eyes on his beloved boy also bring an onslaught of guilt and pain over his own murder of his small baby sister all those years ago.

In moments like this, Angel could not doubt the existence of God or of the deity's supremely perverted sense of humor.

His greatest joy would always be coupled with his greatest pain.

As time ticked by slowly, Angel wondered how long his son would sleep. Perpetual exhaustion and emotional overload took its toll, even on the preternaturally strong, and Connor had found more than his share in the past few days. His son had broken down more than once on the cold, hard floor of the hotel even before bearing witness to the last cruel act of the man who raised him and then shattered him.

The shivering, sobbing shell of a boy that had clung to him and wept piteously following his kidnapper's demise bore little resemblance to the cold-as-ice opponent that had engaged in multiple displays of formidable combat. How much of that soldier-esque demeanor was a direct result of the darkness of the hell dimension that Cordelia had exorcised out of him remained to be seen.

As proud as Angel had been watching his son's fighting prowess, he would be just as happy to see Connor put his past behind him and ease into a normal teenaged lifestyle. But, he knew as well as he knew himself that his wish was more likely a pipe-dream.

It didn't mean that he wouldn't take a stand and fight for every last scrap of childhood that he could reclaim for his son, though.

In the stillness of the darkened room, he heard Connor whimper quietly for just a second and, in a blink of an eye, he sprang up to hover over his sleeping child, frantically searching for signs of a night terror. The boy certainly had more than enough reason.

It didn't appear to be anything to worry over. The small noise did not repeat itself. His son shifted ever so slightly and, in a fit of paternal instinct, Angel reached over and gently tucked the comforter more securely around Connor's shoulders. He is lucky that his sleek movements are undetectable by a normal person. Even his son's heightened senses fail to pick up the seamless motions.

Secure in his son's present comfort, he lowered himself back into the chair and continued to drink in presence of the boy he thought to never see again. If he was being honest with himself, he knew that he was more than a little concerned with his son's state of mental health right now.

_______

After Holtz's demise he had carried the boy, bereft and practically strangling him in an urgent embrace, to the car. Connor had refused to release him even long enough for the short drive to the Hyperion and Angel would sooner have cut off his own arms than release his son if he didn't want to let go. Fumbling for his detested cellphone, while maintaining a firm grasp on his child, he had managed to punch out a quick call to Gunn to retrieve his car from the site as he took to the sewers and carried his son back home.

Once back at the hotel, he had quickly bypassed the assembled in the lobby, ignoring their surprised inquiries as he sprinted up the stairs. Inside his suite, he had lowered himself and Connor onto his bed, anxiously attempting to tune himself into any need that his son might express. Connor had long since stopped sobbing and his tears were replaced by a silent blank stare that petrified his father. With the cessation of tears, the frantic grip of his father's neck released as the formerly tense body relaxed utterly resembling a rag doll draped in Angel's arms.

Angel had kept a firm hold around the slight body, providing whatever support he could to the traumatized teen. He didn't know what to do. He had no idea as to whether or not his child was in shock or just worn out and grief stricken. Connor didn't resist his embrace, his own arms hanging limply at his sides. They sat like that for close to two hours and, just when Angel was getting antsy enough to seek medical treatment, he thankfully heard the soft sounds of his son's slumber.

Once the nervous father was sure that the sleeping boy would not awake easily, he had maneuvered Connor under the blankets, pulling off the shabby torn boots acquired from somewhere that Angel didn't want to think about. A stab of guilt hit him sharply seeing his only child dressed in cast-off clothes and he made a mental note to ask Cordelia to do some shopping. He would even hand over his fiercely guarded credit card. She would be so proud of him.

Now that Connor had been securely tucked into his large bed, Angel had carried over one of the armchairs from the front part of the room and had settled in to keep guard over his most precious treasure. No matter how long it took, he would be waiting when his son woke up.

____

As the hours ticked by, they were mercifully left alone for the most part. At one point, Cordelia had softly tapped on the door, quietly enough so that only Angel's superior sense of hearing would have noticed it. Soundlessly striding across the room, he opened the door and she wordlessly handed him a tray containing a warm mug of blood, a sandwich and a glass of milk. He took it gratefully, setting it on the small table as gently as he could.

As she turned to leave, he slipped his beloved American Express out of his wallet and handed it to her. Her eyes went wide with shock as he mouthed _'he needs clothes'_ to her. Nodding in understanding, she gave him a small smile and left as quickly as she had come.

He reached down to the tray she had thoughtfully prepared and picked up the mug. Closing his eyes in tired anticipation, he took a long swallow of the warmed pig's blood. It slid down his throat, not entirely unwelcome, but carrying its usual bitter aftertaste and unsubstantial body. It didn't matter anymore that he never felt satisfied when he fed. It was the price he paid for the atrocities he had committed and he accepted that.

Draining the rest of the mug quickly, he wiped his mouth carefully with one of the napkins on the tray so that no telltale traces of blood would linger where his son could possibly smell them, even in his sleep. Of course Conner knew what he was, but that didn't mean that Angel had to broadcast it. Especially until the boy was more comfortable in his presence. Quietly, he lifted the milk glass and sandwich plate off of the tray and sauntered back over the bed, placing them gently on the night table. He wanted them close by in case his child was hungry.

Although his movements had been silent and fluid, Connor stirred briefly, flooding Angel with shame that he had disturbed the much needed rest. Fortunately, the boy never opened his eyes and he settled quickly once again, a long deep intake of breath heralding the return of the calm slumber. Exhaling unnecessarily in relief, Angel sunk back into his chair, his eyebrows knitted in thought, his gaze never wavering from the small form on the bed.

Uneasily, he admitted to himself that he was almost scared that his son _would_ wake up. What must he be going through? How must he be feeling? The hurt, the betrayal, the devastation, the grief.

He had no doubt that Connor must have loved Holtz. No matter how much he felt let down by the man's final act, he must surely be harboring deep sadness over the man's passing. Reluctantly, he knew that he had to give Holtz some credit. He had not been lying when he told Angel that he had kept his son alive. It certainly was true, for whatever reason he had done it, and Angel was grateful for it. He would happily take Connor back, regardless of how he may have been raised to think of Angel, as long as he was alive.

And he was alive. That's all that really mattered. Now, Angel would dedicate his time to making sure that his son was happy and healthy as well.

But, he almost wasn't.

He had almost lost Connor again last night. If Wesley hadn't been there when he was, that crazed bitch would have stabbed his child before Angel realized what she was doing.

Wesley.

Angel rubbed his head in discomfort at the thought. What was Wesley doing there? How did he know?

Angel's head throbbed as his mind delved into the possibilities. He was struggling to reconcile his feelings of anger and resentment from his former friends' participation in the kidnapping of his son with the most recent overwhelming gratitude for Wes' timely action's in saving Connor's life. Angel squeezed his eyes shut tight in frustration. This was a matter for another day, another time. He wasn't sure that he was quite in the right frame of mind for forgiveness just yet.

Time passed by slowly, the siren red glowing numbers of the clock on the night table flickering in tune as the minutes turned into hours and slipped away.

Connor's breath stayed slow and easy, his body almost motionless as he lay bundled under the thick comforter. Beads of perspiration were broken out along the boy's small pale forehead, the hacked off edges of his thin brown hair becoming drenched in sweat. Angel wondered if he should pull the blanket away to cool his son down, but discarded the idea as quickly as he had had it. If Connor was unwell, he needed to stay warm.

The silence of the room was starting to get to him. Like before, he was beginning to feel the onset of panic for his son's well being. He knew that it was, once again, nighttime. Maybe it was time to get Connor to a hospital.

He threw a worried glance over to his sleeping son and was thrown by a pair of ice blue eyes staring back at him. In all of his years he had never seen such sadness and confusion as he did right at that moment. Maybe it was just because they were his baby's eyes, but the look in them cut him to the core nevertheless. He moved quickly to sit on the edge of the bed and noticed with a small measure of happiness that Connor didn't even flinch when Angel reached over to smooth away some of the damp hair from his child's forehead.

Looking down at his son with all of the love and concern that he felt inside of him, he gently brushed Connor's cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Hey there, kiddo. I've missed you so much."


	7. As Angel Watches

A/N Sorry all for the long delay. I recently moved out of state and have been just crazy busy with getting settled. I'm finally organized again and hope to be updated much more regularly. Just a small follow up chapter to let you know that I haven't abandoned the story.

Enjoy

************

_"Hurry up, Steven. The light is almost gone."_

_Father turned around and the small boy withered under the scathing glare. He was trying to keep up, but his leg had been cut by the talons of the demon that had attacked them. He was hobbling along in the wake of his father's long strides, the makeshift bandage that Father had constructed slowly unraveling, letting a couple of drops of Steven's blood drip dangerously down his little leg._

_Every couple of feet, the small child had to stop and hitch it back up. Father had told him over and over again that the demons could follow the distinctive scent of their blood to their dwelling. Steven was a big boy now and it was his responsibility to make sure that he didn't leave a trail. The bandage was made from the purple fronds of one of the bushes that grew around their only water source. The fronds gave off an extremely foul odor and the stench was starting to make Steven's empty belly turn sour._

_He didn't like the sinister looking bushes. They bore a small black berry that Steven, in a fit of real hunger, had once eaten. Father had tested them himself when Steven was just a baby, but they made Father sick for several days, so he had always been taught to stay away from them. But, after two days of not finding anything to eat, his little belly had been so empty that his resistance simply crumbled. When Father's back was turned, Steven had grabbed a handful and shoved them into his desperate mouth._

_Unfortunately, Father had seen him chewing and knew immediately what had happened._

_Father didn't say anything at the time but, a short time later, he had managed to behead a lone sluk that they found skittering around the water hole. They dragged the water demon back to the dwelling and Steven had practically salivated. On top of the makeshift spit that Father had fashioned from a spike he had once recovered from an abandoned Qu'ark demon death camp, he roasted the sluk, its clear hide shriveling from the loss of water, turning an inky blue._

_Completely cooked, Father had pulled the strips of smoked sluk from the spit and split them into piles. Some were for immediate eating, some for the small black pouch that was kept in the dwelling, and the rest in the travel packs they both carried at all times in case they needed to run. The ravenous boy waited patiently for Father to allow him to take his portion for their meal. He was not allowed to help himself until Father nodded._

_Only this time, Father had never given his consent. Steven had watched as Father chewed the leathery sticks slowly and meticulously. The little boy had begged with his eyes for permission, but the older man had steadfastly ignored him while he consumed his small meal. When Father had finished his last piece, he had collected the rest of the strips and distributed them as usual, taking Steven's little pouch from him and tying it to his own._

_Confused, his tummy growling in protest, he had blinked back tears, knowing that he wasn't allowed to cry anymore. Father saw him staring at the now empty spit, his tiny bottom lip beginning to tremble._

_"Disobedient little boys go to bed hungry, Steven," Father had told him sternly._

_In the haze of sleep, Connor's unconcious mind drifted until Father's image was replaced by Sunny, her warm chocolate brown eyes dancing as she held out the little cake, happy to share her meagre supply of food with a strangely dressed boy that she had only just met._

_"Well then, get on down here, cowboy," she teased, her voice lilting in amusement._

_******_

_Steven perched quietly in the shadows of the rocky cliff face, heart pumping in rapid staccato beats, the only physical sign that betrayed the nervousness of the nine year old. _

_He kept himself strategically downwind from the two demons that were gathered around a fire pit a short distance away, his body taut, small hand gripping the makeshift handle of the blade that Father had taken from a lone travelling demon that had wandered too close to their dwelling. Steven had learned early on that all such encounters were a fight to the death. Father couldn't afford to let even one scout catch a scent of their presence._

_Even at his tender age, the boy was already a skilled warrior, easily capable of taking out an opponent. However, today was to be a new test of his strength and courage. When Father had spotted the duo approaching the humans' safe haven, he had stared closely at the boy, as if sizing him up, and then announced that Steven was to slay the pair on his own. His words chilling the child to the bone as he made it clear that the vampire's son would come back victorious, or not to bother coming back at all._

_He crept ever closer, moving stealthily, making absolutely no noise to give away his intentions, his face a placid mask of concentration. On approach, with a final burst of preternatural speed, he burst forward and raised his arm as high into the air as he could, before bringing it down with powerful force to bury into the back of the closest demon's skull. The second demon, shocked by the appearance of the small human as well as the devastation brought down on his companion, shrieked in a high pitched wail of fury that rattled Steven's mind and dropped him to his knees._

_The pain had become almost too excruciating to endure and made it impossible for the boy to focus on the task at hand for a moment. It was only when he sensed the imminent danger of the approaching beast that Steven had managed to force himself back up to his feet, one hand cradling his left ear in a pathetic attempt to block out any part of the torturous sound that it could manage, while the other hand found his blade. It had taken all of his strength and discipline to assume a defensive stance from the expected onslaught. He knew he would only have the briefest of seconds to regain the upper hand if he wasn't going to die today._

_He knew, by sheer instinct, that the demon couldn't screech endlessly, that sooner or later, it would need to stop, if only for a split second, to reinforce it's strength. He waited, fractions of a second passing as he steeled himself, and was thankfully rewarded with a hair breadth opening in which the demon had to recharge his energy._

_He struck, his blade hurtling towards the the contorted mess that the particular species considered a face, their weak spot. The small boy plowed his weapon aiming for the dead center of his target with everything that he had inside of him._

_He never expected the blurry speed feint as the demon shifted slightly to the left. The anticipated second of refocus having only been a ruse to throw off the miniature assailant. Steven choked in a hard breath, knowing now that he was done for. He closed his eyes and waited for death._

_When he heard the demon shriek again, as its head was held in an iron grip, the sound made Steven open his eyes in shock, never more grateful to see Father than he had been at that exact moment. The relieved elation was short lived once he saw the look of anger and disappointment on Father's face. Far from shining with exhileration upon a successful hunt, Father's eyes were cold and black and Steven's mind reeled, remembering the edict that had been issued to him prior to his departure._

_"Don't just stand there, boy. Kill it!" Father had hissed, seemingly paying no attention to the fact that the demon's talons were sunk deeply in Steven's little arms. _

_Squirming out of the death grip, paying no attention to the large threads of blood now pouring from his thin limbs, Steven stabbed the creature fully in the face and it dropped immediately, death waiting no longer for the Hell beast. In disgust, Father had released it and turned to walk away, leaving the small child behind without a word._

_Steven couldn't protest. Father had been quite clear about his expectations and what the consequences for failure were. Steven had not dispatched both demons on his own as ordered. He would surely have perished if Father had not intervened. In enveloping dispair, Steven's knobby knees buckled and he sank to the ground._

_"Please...," he whispered to the retreating back of the only person he had ever loved. "Please, Father..."_

_Father had crossed a fair distance before he had turned around, a look of impatience on his face as he glared at the boy._

_"You don't deserve this, Steven, but God is telling me to give you one more chance to prove yourself."_

_Steven had choked back a sob, unexpected hope swelling in his chest. He quickly jumped to his feet and scurried towards Father before he had the chance to change his mind. Like an obedient animal that had been given a reprieve from death, he stopped in front of the tall stern man and begged for forgiveness with his pale blue eyes._

_Steven had not issued a word of protest as Father roughly dragged him back to the dwelling. He kept silent, even as his bleeding arms released a steady thin stream of red liquid that pooled on the hard stone floor that Father forced him to kneel on. Biting his cheek, he had remained completely quiet, holding onto the jagged rock of the cave walls, grateful for the chance to still consider them home, even as Father's strap flew mercilessly against his tiny back, again and again._

_"Your failure could have killed me Steven," Father had hissed as he delivered blow after blow._

_In his mind's eye, Connor relived the scene of his greatest disgrace, now seeing Angel on his knees beside him in the cave. For every stroke of Father's strap, Connor watched as a bullet meant for him pierced his vampire father's back._

_"I love you," Father professed, continuing the beating._

_"I love you," Angel said quietly, the bullets ripping through his large torso._

Connor awoke with a start, the shadowly outline of his vampire father's form the first thing he saw in the darkened room. The boy's mind was still racing with the vivid images of his dreams, but even as his mind struggled to throw off the last vestiges of sleep, he couldn't help but notice the gentle concern easily apparent in Angel's eyes.

Angel moved quickly and gracefully to sit by his side and Connor had to force himself to quash the urge to flee even as the vampire reached over to stroke his cheek, the skin of his hand icy cold, but his touch so impossibly gentle that Connor felt himself wanting to lean into the small gesture of affection.

"Hey there, kiddo. I've missed you so much."


	8. The Dawn of a New Day

In the shadowy darkness of his suite, Angel sat perched on the side of his bed, cautiously optimistic when his waking son did not immediately pull away from his touch. However, he felt it unnecessary to push the issue by lingering as long as he would have liked to. Right now, any sort of rejection from Connor would lethally wound his already dead heart.

Allowing himself one more second to gently brush the boy's flushed cheek with the pad of his thumb, he slowly and reluctantly pulled away, moving carefully so as not to spook his child. Connor was staring at him warily, as if he could not decide which one of the plethora of emotions running the gamut through his mind was the correct one to allow to the surface.

They stared at each other for a moment, concerned brown eyes searching, ice blue weary, confused and utterly saddened. Under his father's scrutinizing gaze, Connor shifted slightly in the warm soft bedding, the slippery silkiness of the 1000 count Egyptian cotton sheets that were one of Angel's few indulgences feeling foreign and decadent to him.

Growing up sleeping on mats made from the rough hides of the hell beasts that they had slaughtered was a daily fact of life and, if they were at all unpleasant, he had had no way of knowing any better. For the past few days, he had been given the opportunity of sleeping on one of the twin beds at the motel, but the thin cheap lumpy mattresses were _too_ comfortable, lulling him quickly into a deep slumber that first night and throwing him off of his ever vigilant guard.

Unwilling to lower his defenses at such a critical time in his miserable existence, he had thrown one of the practically threadbare bedspreads onto the hard floor and taken what little snippets of rest he had allowed himself down there.

Connor knew immediately upon waking that he was resting in the vampire's own bed, the man's scent heavy in the air all around him, permeating his nostrils with its familiarity. The thick pillow behind him cradled his head in a cloud of feathers, the fluffy blanket that covered him insulating his weary body like a cocoon of protection. Connor closed his eyes, his mind shifting with snatches of long forgotten memories, this comfort, this feeling of protection, this feeling of _safety_.

Surely Father would reprimand him severely for forgetting himself in the demon's lair.

_Father_

Connor winced in pain from the thought of the man, squeezing his eyes shut in agony, his breath hitching from the weight of the betrayal he felt. Even as his heart began to hammer in his chest, he felt the rush of a breeze that preceded a cool hand softly pressed against his cheek. Swallowing thickly, he opened his eyes and met the panicked concern in the face of the man hovering above him.

"Connor?"

Angel had watched as his son's already pale face whitened even further for no apparent reason. The tension in his scrunched up eyes, the stiffening of his small body beneath the blanket. Fearing some sort of fit, he had darted quickly back to his son's side, only minusculely relieved when Connor opened his eyes back up, his gaze despondent but focused.

His son was alert and, for that, Angel was immeasureably grateful. But the boy was clearly struggling emotionally and Angel was at a loss as to how to help him. He forgot that he had his hand on the boy's flushed cheek until Connor began to blink rapidly, giving off the nervousness of a trapped animal. He didn't say anything to admit to his discomfort but, when Angel pulled away, he relaxed considerably.

A flash of hurt raced across Angel's face before he could stop himself and he didn't know whether to feel guilty or pleased when his small son shrunk back into the pillow in shame. Angel leaned back, away from Connor's personal space, giving the boy a chance to breath. He raised his hand and rubbed the back of his closely cut hair as he debated on how to approach his son in the most non-threatening manner possible.

The contest of wills continued as each stared at the other, neither one of them knowing how to breach the mountainous wall of silence between them. It was only when the immistakeable grumble of an empty stomach announced its displeasure that Angel's face relaxed slightly and the sides of his mouth turned up into the barest of smiles.

"You hungry, kiddo?" he asked quietly, his brown eyes warm and gentle. This he could do. He could feed his son. It was one of the few things he did for Connor before and he quickly eased back into the paternal role.

Connor's eyes widened and he tensed just a little bit from hearing his father's voice speaking to him so affectionately. In the dark recesses of his mind, he felt an overwhelming sense of deja vu from the tone and perhaps even the question itself. He felt himself nodding before he was even consciously aware of making the motion. It was purely instinct after years of being taught that keeping himself nourished was one of the most basic rules of staying alive.

Allowing his awareness to come further into focus, his heightened senses detected the smell of food to his right and he slowly swiveled his head in that direction to investigate what the source was. He saw the thick square of bread and meat next to the glass of room temperature white liquid and his mouth filled with saliva from the instant desire for sustenance. Angel followed his son's line of sight to the plate on the night stand and frowned.

"No, not that, pal."

Connor scowled in displeasure and turned his attention back to his father. He knew better than to take food that had not been offered to him, but he could feel the hunger building up inside of him and wondered why the man would have it lying next to his head but not allow him to consume it.

Was this some sort of torture? Some type of punishment for his earlier aggressive behavior? Father - _he winced _- had often deprived him of food when he had misbehaved. It would appear that Angel was no different.

Angel, for his part, immediately noticed his son's reaction and rushed to correct the boy's misconception.

"It's been sitting out for quite a while," he explained in a low soothing voice. "You could get sick from eating it now. Let's go downstairs and I'll make you a new one."

Connor's forehead wrinkled with confusion. He had been raised to _never_ waste food, even if it was on the brink of spoiling. It was too precious a commodity to take for granted and they had never known when they might get their next good kill. His own constitution was strong and, more often than not as he grew, he consumed the older rations that would have wreaked havoc with his father's weaker stomach.

Did Angel think _him_ weak? Had his own failure in killing the vampire effectively caused his demon father to think low of his abilities?

But Angel was looking at him with a face filled with what could only be called concern. His brown eyes shining down at him gently. The soft undertones of his voice compassionately warm.

Father, no _Holtz,_ had told him over and over again how devious the demon was capable of being. But, then again, the man had told him many things over the years and Connor now found himself left floundering to believe anything he had said. How could a man who had always presented himself as being righteous and honest choose to deceive the boy he claimed as a son in such a low handed vicious manner?

Who had been the real liar?

Slowly, flexing his sore muscles that were unaccustomed to laying down for so long, Connor sat up against the headboard, nervously fiddling with the hem of the expensive comforter. Taking the boy's movement as his cue to give him some space, Angel stood up and slowly backed away. Still slightly wary of the much larger vampire, years of training brimming to the surface of his consciousness, Connor pushed the blanket from his lap and carefully eased himself out of the bed.

**

Both man and boy stood with a slight tension in their frames, Angel subconsciously raising his hands slightly in supplication, trying desperately to avoid spooking his damaged child. Connor moved slowly, fluidly, keeping his guard up out of habit.

Intellectually, the boy knew that this was the same man that had protected him, the same man who had held him tight when his world had spun out of control and watched over him as he slept. But a lifetime of prejudices was so hard to overcome in just a few minutes and he found himself on the defensive in spite of his growing feelings of attachment to the undead being.

They circled each other for a few seconds, not necessarily like adversaries, but cautious nonetheless. Connor dropped his guard long enough to allow himself to take in the familiarity of his surroundings. His eyebrows furrowed in deep thought, causing Angel to look at him in concern.

"I know this place," he muttered, his face still twisted in confusion, his eyes wandering along the walls still sporting unfinished repairs from the fire, his senses assaulted with fragments of long forgotten memories.

Angel smiled sadly, releasing a deep unnecessary breath, his torment exquisite.

"Yeah, you do."

Connor looked at his father, attempting to decipher the meaning of his words and inhaling sharply when he saw the man's eyes glaze over with tears. Startled by Angel's reaction, he dropped his stiff posture and slowly approached his father, silently asking for clarification.

Angel struggled to keep his composure, but found himself failing utterly. His jaw trembled with emotion as he tried to speak, tears of pain and regret slipping down his ice cold cheeks. His razor sharp mind racing with crystal clear memories of his infant son, the ghostly images of what the room looked like only weeks ago appearing before him.

Connor cradled in his arms as he rocked him to sleep _over there_. Cooing contentedly as he lay on the changing table _over there_. Connor, wearing only a diaper, laying on the bed, his chubby little legs kicking as his father blew raspberries on his little tummy.

"Angel?"

The boy's voice dragged Angel back into the here and now and he rubbed a large hand across his face, brushing away the traitorous tears that had fallen. He turned back to the significantly larger Connor and gave his son a wan smile.

"Sorry," he whispered without further explanation. He straightened his shoulders and attempted to compose himself. "This room was..... This is where you lived..before..."

And then Connor realized. This room. This had been _home_.

Angel reached out tentatively and brushed a lock of hair out of his baby's blue eyes. "I think you're old enough now to have your own room, though," he teased, his voice thick with tears in spite of himself. The words and the painful reminder behind them not being lost on either father or son.

Connor nodded his head slightly and fidgeted, jamming his nervous hands into the pockets of the tattered jeans. Angel watched his son's movements and then made a face of startled realization. Connor was still unnecessarily clad in his soiled cast off clothes. Several hours earlier, Cordy had returned from shopping, and Angel, in spite of her determined efforts to be quiet, had clearly heard her deposit several bags outside of his suite's door.

"You probably want to wash up a little first, huh?"

Connor blinked rapidly, his father's abrupt change of plans throwing him off guard. He didn't deny the question. In fact, washing away the filth of the previous day sounded absolutely heavenly at the moment. The stench of his physical exertions and restless sleep rolled off of him in waves, and the scent of his dead father - _kidnapper?_ - clung to him like a stain of shame. Surely Angel could smell it too, he thought, and he flushed with humiliation.

Connor averted his eyes and whispered, almost imperceptibly, "Yes, please."

"Yeah, um...okay, then." Angel clapped his hands together and sprinted towards the door. Standing still, his face frowning, Connor watched his father's nervous motions, the rapid jerky movements of an otherwise graceful being, setting him further on edge.

Angel opened the door and bent down, grabbing at the handles of close to a dozen laden shopping bags and effortlessly hauling them back into the main room. Briefly, he looked for a good space to unpack them before finally settling for the recently vacated bed.

With his back turned to his son, he began to unload the contents, stacking them in neat piles, his predisposition towards order ratcheted up a notch by his unease. The idea of his precious child being home again had brought all of his first time father insecurities roaring back with a vengeance and he found himself almost paralyzingly desperate to not do or say anything incorrect.

"I..uh...asked Cordy to pick up some things for you," he rattled on as he sorted. "There are shirts..pants..a few pairs of shoes."

Angel finally turned and faced him, holding a stack of boxes and showing them to the overwhelmed boy. Getting no verbal response, he turned back around and continued.

"There are socks and boxers, too," he said casually, turning around with a packaged of assorted boxer briefs in his hand. Seeing a look of confusion on the boy's face, he choked back his next sentence and stammered.

"You..uh...put these on..underneath...to..uh..."

Flustered, Angel halted his stuttering and just stared at the boy. He didn't know why talking about underwear with his own son should be unnerving him so. But the look on Connor's face was clearly confusion, so he struggled for understanding. He had no idea that the boy's discomfort was a product of his own slightly hysterical actions and not a matter of ignorance or modesty.

"Didn't...._he_...didn't you ever....use...." He sputtered and then could have absolutely kicked himself. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he mentally chastised himself for the question. His baby was raised in a hell dimension. Not a lot of chances to pick up a package of Haines, surely.

Before he could dig himself in further, he was unexpectedly rescued by Connor's soft voice.

"I know what they are."

Life in the Quor'Toth may have been brutal and bleak, but Fa-_Holtz_, had taken some pains to prepare him for the life they were to lead once they were delivered from their tormented existence. Connor wanted Angel to know that he was not completely ignorant in the ways of this world.

He must have said the right thing because he saw the immediate relief of the man and the return of the slightly pained smiled that had been sent his way a dozen times already since he woke. Connor's discomfort level grew and he fidgeted, eager to bath and be free of his father for even just a few moments.

"Okay. Good. Great," Angel muttered as he tossed the package back onto the bed with the others. "Um...just..pick out what you like. Cordy's pretty good with sizes, so...they should probably fit well. And..uh..."

Angel stopped his babbling and jammed his hands into his own pockets. He had the distinct feeling that if he was capable of sweating, he would be resembling a marathon runner right about now. He glanced at his son standing quietly next to the bathroom door and cleared his throat.

"The shower is through there," he indicated with a slight hand gesture, anxious to get this conversation behind them. He jerked to a start and stepped towards the door. "I'll show you how to use the,"

"I know what to do," Connor interrupted, the scowl firmly back in place on his face. At his father's look of disbelief, he felt compelled to explain himself further. "At the motel,"

Angel's eyes widened in realization and he mentally kicked himself again. "Oh, right. Of course."

Like two observers of a train wreck who could not seem to tear their eyes away from the carnage, father and son stared at each other for another highly uncomfortable moment before Angel finally started to make his way towards the suite door.

"Okay, um, I'll just be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything."

Connor nodded and turned to walk into the bathroom as Angel left the suite. Finally free of each other, each pressed against their respective closed doors and sighed deeply.

***

Bathing in Quor'Toth had been a practice that was both unfortunately infrequent and invariably dangerous, their only sources of water being the hot springs that burned skin after just a few minutes or the sporadic still pools that attracted sluks and other manners of indigenous demons. Consequently, Connor's past experiences were rough and almost always unpleasant.

To stand underneath unlimited water, without fear of attack or injury, was practically a paradise and the boy knew that he was quickly gaining a personal indulgence for long hot showers. In the quiet of his father's bathroom, he stood, face turned up into the spray, and finally relaxed as the taint of the previous day washed away from his skin.

He reached for the marbled green bar of soap resting in the small tray, reading the slightly blurry words imprinted on it, but not getting the joke, realizing that the scent from it must be partially responsible for the familiar scent he immediately had recognized as his father. Whatever this _Irish Spring _was, it was part of what made Angel, Angel. He hesitated a moment and then started to scrub himself with it. It was comforting and familiar.

All too soon, his stomach growled again impatiently and he reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out of the tub. Grabbing one of the large fluffy towels hanging by the sink, he rubbed himself dry, the softness of the fabric amazing him. He bit his lip and steeled his resolve to not allow himself to get comfortable and complacent in this indulgent world. Until he was more secure in his new surroundings, he could not afford to lose his edge.

Walking over to the bed, he stood, overwhelmed by the large piles of garments procured for him. He didn't really know if there was supposed to be any rhyme or reason to putting them together, so he settled for just grabbing things at random and donning them. Lacing up his new shoes as he leaned against the bed, he agreed with his father's assessment that the woman Cordelia did, in fact, choose well, everything fitting him comfortably.

With a slight pang of regret, he held the shirt and pants that Sunny had gifted him with. He felt himself unwilling to discard them, as if, to do so, would be to forget the sweet girl. He wrapped them in the slightly sodden towel and put the bundle aside, intent on asking his father as to how he could launder them and insistant that Angel would not force him to relinquinsh them altogether.

He took a brief moment to calm his revving nerves at the prospect of interacting with his father again. So far, the man had been kind and welcoming, and Connor found himself aching desperately for that to continue, but he immediately chastised himself for it.

With the betrayal and death of the only person he knew, and removal from the only home he truly remembered, were these feelings of hope only a result of a desire to not be all alone in the world? A few days ago, the warrior inside of him would have scoffed at such a suggestion, but the release of the darkness that had always engulfed him, while being held in the arms of the woman that he had instinctively recognized as the only mother he had ever known, had changed him irrevocably.

Even at the risk of damning himself, he knew that this was where he was meant to be.

Squaring his shoulders and opening the door, he called upon all of his strength as he braced himself and pushed forward into his new life.


End file.
